


Meet Me On The Way Down

by fadeastride



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeastride/pseuds/fadeastride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years is a long time. But the more things change, the more they stay the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me On The Way Down

_Phoenix, 2008_

When Scherzer gets drafted, Mizzou’s never seen one of their players go in the first round. But Scherzer throws damn near a hundred miles an hour, and he throws for strikes. He tears through Visalia and Mobile and Tuscon like a shot, landing in Phoenix in less than a year.

He catches some shit when he gets there, of course, goofy-looking rookie with two different colored eyes and a sharp tongue. Then they see him pitch, four and a third perfect innings his first time out, and even Randy Johnson is nodding appreciatively when he comes off the field. 

Scherzer counts the tiles in the ceiling that night, afraid he’s gonna wake up back in Missouri tomorrow because there’s no way this can be real. When the sun creeps through the blinds, though, it’s that same ceiling above him. This is actually happening.

He ends up staying around long enough to justify renting a little apartment a few miles from the stadium. It’s not in a great part of town, and he never does finish unpacking everything, but it’s his and it’s good enough. He even misses it, sometimes, when he gets sent down in the middle of the season and spends the better part of three months staring out of bus windows, waiting to be called back up.

In late August, when he gets the call, he swears to himself that he’s done with bus windows for good. By the second week of September, the Diamondbacks have lost every single one of his starts and he’s hellbent on piling up strikeouts, pretending they’re wins.

On the 14th, he bites his nails down to the quick before Patterson smacks a ball off the right field foul pole in the top of the 10th. Rauch spends the bottom of the 10th smacking things around in the clubhouse, swearing at himself and everyone else. The Diamondbacks lose that game, too.

After, Scherzer sits in front of his locker overanalyzing the pitch he’d let Bruce launch into the right field bleachers. As he pulls at the laces of his glove, he feels a warmth settle between his shoulder blades. He looks up to see Haren leaning over him, a mess of dark hair and bright eyes and the hint of a smile.

“Tough luck, kid,” he says. “You threw a hell of a game.” 

Scherzer thanks him and tries to ignore the way his stomach is twisting itself into knots. He doesn’t know where this feeling’s coming from, but maybe it’s that Haren’s just so goddamn pretty and so goddamn _good_. Everything about him sends Scherzer back to ninth grade, waiting to grow into his limbs and screwing up the courage to ask out Melinda Hayes with his voice that cracks and pops at all the worst times.

Hours later, the knots are still working to untie themselves.

Two days later, Haren throws his first complete game shutout. Twelve strikeouts, and Scherzer holds his breath as his stomach hits the floor.

The way Haren’s smiling after the final out is unsettlingly wide and infectious. Everyone’s giving him high fives and saying _great game_ and his smile keeps getting wider. By the time Scherzer gets to him, the color is high in his cheeks and he looks almost crazy. 

Scherzer’s still a little bit in awe of Haren and a little bit in awe of this game. He kind of wants to know how crazy Haren might be. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s telling Haren he wants to buy him a beer to celebrate.

He cringes a little, embarrassed by the way he sounds like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush, but Haren just claps him on the back and says, “Hell yeah, man. If you’re paying, then lead the way.”

That’s how Scherzer ends up doing shots of Cuervo in a seedy bar a few blocks away from his apartment.

More importantly, that’s how Scherzer finds out that Haren gets pretty handsy when he’s drunk.

At first, Scherzer thinks that maybe it’s the kind of handsy that comes with being absolutely shitfaced but then Haren’s hooking a finger through his belt loop and asking how far it is to his place. Scherzer’s never been the kind of guy to second guess himself, but something about Haren tilts his world so hard that he doesn’t quite trust the ground to be there when he makes his next step. 

Whether the ground’s there or not, Haren’s eyes are half-lidded and his smile’s entirely too wide and Scherzer dives headfirst into what he figures is the best bad decision he’s ever gonna make.

They decide to walk back to Scherzer’s apartment, cool air between them as they stumble over the sidewalk cracks, arms linked together in an attempt to stay upright. By the time they get to the apartment, Scherzer’s arms are prickled with goosebumps and he’s glad to climb the three flights of stairs to his floor.

He fumbles his key into the lock and they’re barely inside before Haren’s kicking the door closed behind them. Haren slips his hand behind Scherzer’s head and pulls him in for a kiss, all teeth and tongue. Scherzer breathes in the taste of tequila and lime.

He slides his hands under Haren’s shirt, pushing him down the hallway toward the bedroom. They don’t get that far before Haren’s muttering under his breath – _don’t wanna wait doin’ this now_ – and dropping to his knees. He loosens Scherzer’s belt with far more skill than his level of inebriation should allow and tugs the jeans from his hips. Scherzer watches Haren’s tongue flick out from between his lips and nothing in the world has prepared him for this. 

When Haren leans in, mouth open, Scherzer squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth is warm and Scherzer digs his fingernails into the wall.

He twists his fingers in Haren’s hair a little too tight but the noise Haren makes in his throat almost renders Scherzer blind. When he glances down, he can see that Haren’s managed to get his own pants open and is working his own dick left-handed, clumsily, desperately.. Haren swallows and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth as Scherzer lowers himself to the floor. They lean together until their foreheads touch and when Haren comes, breathless, Scherzer kisses him again.

There’s not much Scherzer remembers between that and waking up on the couch the next morning with a pounding headache and Haren’s arm flopped across his chest. Haren’s face is pressed into his shoulder, mouth open slightly. He nudges Haren a little until Haren blinks awake.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Scherzer murmurs and Haren’s yawn melts into a grin. Haren grinds the heel of his hand into his eye as he stretches out, his toes spreading wide at the end of the couch. 

“You want breakfast?” Scherzer asks, scratching lazily at his stomach. Haren nods before shoving himself off the couch, mumbling something like _gotta pee like a motherfucker_ as he pads off toward the bathroom.

When he comes back out to the kitchen, Scherzer’s cracked some eggs into a pan and is digging in the cupboards for a couple clean plates. “Hope you like your eggs scrambled,” he says, “because that’s really the only way I know how to cook ‘em.”

Haren shakes his head and chuckles, says, “Yeah, I’m not even surprised.”

They eat in amicable silence and, afterward, Haren washes the dishes while Scherzer gets dressed. 

As they make their way back to the bar’s parking lot, Arizona sun warm on their backs, they banter aimlessly about nothing at all. Both cars still there and intact, and Haren pops his trunk. Scherzer leans against the hood of the car, watching as he rustles around in a duffel bag for a clean shirt.

Haren peels off yesterday’s shirt and flings it unceremoniously into the trunk. He’s pulling the fresh one over his head, hair fluffing out the top before he tugs it down, when Scherzer starts to talk.

“This is probably the kind of thing we never talk about again, huh?”

“Probably.” Haren meets his eyes.

He nods. “I don’t have to, like, stay fifty feet away from you at all times or anything, though. Right?”

Haren smiles, straight white teeth on display. “Nah, you’re cool. You can stay around.” 

Scherzer isn’t sure if it should be, but it feels like enough. He tells Haren that he’s gonna go ahead and leave so they don’t get to the park at the same time. Before he rolls out of the parking lot, he cracks the window and yells, “You’ll probably beat me there anyways, this car is a piece of shit,” and drives off with Haren laughing in his rear-view mirror.

They do hang out at the park sometimes, the way good teammates should, but it’s not like they’re the best of friends. Haren mostly sticks close to Brandon Webb and Scherzer isn’t about to push his way in. When Scherzer gets traded the next December, Haren doesn’t call. Scherzer probably wouldn’t have answered anyway.

\--------------------------------  
 _Anaheim, 2012_

He doesn’t look up when someone slides onto the stool next to his own because he really doesn’t want to look at anybody right now. Instead, he stares at the puddle of condensation in which his glass is currently sitting. The person next to him shifts and inhales. 

“Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

Scherzer jumps, lifts his eyes slowly, and there’s fucking Dan Haren just smiling away. He drains the rest of his glass.

“You were pretty spectacular out there today,” Haren says. 

Scherzer snorts derisively. “Didn’t matter. Wasn’t good enough.”

There isn’t much to say to that, so Haren waves the bartender over and orders them each a beer, nursing his while Scherzer quietly rants about his start. Eventually, Scherzer realizes that Haren hasn’t said a word in at least fifteen minutes and, when he glances up, that Haren is staring at him with a look of concentration.

“I swear to God,” Haren says, “I think your blue eye glows in the dark.”

Suddenly, Scherzer finds himself acutely aware of the situation, of things he’d spent four years forgetting about, and it makes him nervous. 

“How’s Jess? The kids?” he asks, angry at the way his own voice betrays him, at the way Haren is always going to make him feel like an awkward teenager.

“Good, they’re good. Rhett started kindergarten last week and Jess keeps crying about it. They’re all visiting her parents for the weekend.” There’s a pause that feels like hours. “It’s just me. If, uh. If you wanted to come over.” Haren chews his bottom lip and all Scherzer can think is that he wants that lip between his own teeth.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m down.”

Haren unlocks the doors of his car and Scherzer flinches a little at the sight of the carseat in the back. They make the drive with the pulsing blare of music making conversation all but impossible. It’s the kind of music Scherzer’s always referred to as “hipster bullshit,” but he’s tapping his fingers to the beat anyways, just to give his hands something to do.

Haren’s house is a behemoth of brown stucco in Mediterranean style, set back from the street. There are toys in the entry way and Haren curses quietly as he kicks them out of the way. Scherzer’s brain is swimming with second thoughts but Haren flashes a smile over his shoulder and he knows there’s no way in hell he’s going anywhere.

When they reach the bedroom, Haren flips the light on and turns to face Scherzer almost shyly. Scherzer reaches out, takes hold of Haren’s shirt and pulls him close. The corners of Haren’s mouth flicker upward and he dips his head and lets his lips graze Scherzer’s.

Standing here now, bathed in the bright light of this clean bedroom in Haren’s expensive house, it feels a million miles away from Scherzer’s dingy, under-furnished apartment four years ago. Any buzz from the alcohol is gone and Scherzer wants to map every inch of Haren’s body in his mind – the freckles on the side of his neck, the way his smile makes his eyes look a little lopsided, the split in his lip that never quite heals because he chews at it.

Instead, he takes Haren’s face in his hands and kisses him softly.

Haren whispers, “I’ll be right back,” grabs the bottle of lube out of the bedside table, and ducks into the bathroom, leaving Scherzer alone to avoid eye contact with any pictures of the kids on the wall. A minute or two later, he hears the water run and Haren steps back into the room. He presses a condom into Scherzer’s palm and turns to pull the covers off the bed. He’s still standing there, nervously smoothing the sheets when Scherzer sidles up behind him, wrapping one arm round his waist. He places his hand on top of Scherzer’s and nods, braces as they position themselves.

They move slowly at first, Scherzer’s hips rocking upward softly, bodies yielding bit by bit. Haren leans forward, palms flat on the bed, and Scherzer reaches out to grab him by the shoulder, dark curls tickling the back of his hand with each push.

Scherzer’s had a thing for his hair since day one and now he slides his fingers through it, taking hold and jerking his head back. He kisses along the side of Haren’s neck and can feel the low rumblings of whatever he's trying to say before the words dissolve. He lets his free hand ghost down Haren’s stomach, wraps it around him. He drags his teeth along the curve of Haren’s shoulder, can hear him hiss a little, and he tightens his hold.

Haren comes first, panting and swearing, and locks his knees to keep them from buckling. Scherzer wraps both arms around Haren’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder, nothing but a quiet exhalation when he comes.

As Haren climbs on to the bed, Scherzer slips into the bathroom to throw away the condom and wash his hands. When he comes back out, Haren is lying on his back, hands linked behind his head. He pauses before crawling in next to him.

They lie there a while, silent, unsure. Scherzer counts his breaths and watches Haren brush his hair back off his forehead. It’s Haren who speaks first.

“Pretty sure I’m gonna be a free agent at the end of the season.”

Scherzer eyes him. “So come to Detroit.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could swallow them back. He’s sure it can’t be the right thing to say, not tonight. But Haren just laughs.

“Maybe I should,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, if they ask. You and I get along all right.” He glances over. “And I guess I could learn to tolerate Verlander’s arm hair.”

Scherzer cocks an eyebrow. “…I don’t think I’m gonna ask about that one, man.”

Haren shakes his head and smiles at him, that charming fucking smile that makes Scherzer feel like he’s drunk all over again.

“Yeah, I,” Haren says, “I don’t even know what I’m talking about right now. I’ll figure it out later.” He pulls the chain on the bedside lamp.

The room goes dark and there, with Haren curled up beside him between crisp, clean sheets, Scherzer lets the world fade out.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Happy birthday to the lovely Alex! (only took me, what, 6 months?)  
> 2\. Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats.  
> 3\. My undying love to Heather for putting up with me during the process of writing this.  
> 4\. Haren's opinion on Verlander's arm hair? [That's canon.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqtikSLhk3M)  
> 5\. [Haren's CGSO crazyface is canon too](http://i46.tinypic.com/1j438z.jpg).


End file.
